The Death Princess
by TheBreezeRider
Summary: Why is Hogwarts so keen on having 17-year-old American girl Phoebe Blackridge at their school? Can she deal with the past trying to catch up with her?
1. Chapter 1 : The Letter

I do not own Harry Potter (written by JK Rowling). This piece of writing is fan fiction! It contains original characters and content, as well as information, content, and characters from the Harry Potter series (which, again, I do NOT own). Thank you for reading!

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><p><strong>Chapter 1 – The Letter<strong>

Phoebe Blackridge swept back a loose strand of hair falling over her eyes. The street in front of her blurred in the heat waves of Arizona's August sun, and the toes of her bare feet curled over the edge of her home's concrete porch as she prepared to venture across the lawn to retrieve the day's mail. One foot out, and she was leaping across the dry lawn in long strides, feet barely hitting the ground as she took her next step.

To avoid scalding the bottoms of her bare feet on the steaming sidewalk, she hopped in place as she pulled the cooking letters from within the metal mailbox. It was one of many other mailboxes that lined an empty street faced by similar old stuccoed houses, each adorned by a grass-less yard and maybe a cactus. Phoebe could feel her feet getting red as she sped back toward the house. The temperature was nearing 106 degrees Fahrenheit, as the news playing on the small television in the kitchen had told her.

"_Girl! The mail!_" Phoebe heard from within the shadowed house as soon as she slammed the door shut behind her.

Phoebe lived with her grandmother. She had lived in Oklahoma until she was three years old. Then her parents had passed away, leaving behind nothing but a singed photo of the three smiling and wet in a turquoise-watered pool. The photo was burned around the edges and her father's face was blacked out completely, but sometimes, if she looked close enough, Phoebe could almost imagine that the bodies swayed in the pool, that the water rippled calmly behind them.

"_Hurry up!_" came her grandmother's voice again, and Phoebe sped into the floral kitchen. A near-sighted, nasty looking woman with gray frizzled hair was hunched over the table, squinting at a television that was now playing a late-morning talk show. "Hand 'em over," She growled, thrusting out her thick hand without turning her head. Phoebe handed over the small bundle of letters.

Phoebe had made significant progress in washing the stack of dirty dishes towering out of the kitchen sink before her grandmother looked down from the television that was lighting up the room. Her show was on a commercial break. The old woman began leafing through the letters in the agitated manner in which she did everything. "_Bills! Junk!_" she scoffed between one and the next. Finally she reached the last letter, a thin, faded yellow envelope.

"Now what's this?" mumbled Nana Blackridge. The comment piqued Phoebe's interest. She left the sink to look at the letter from behind the woman's round back, and the neat, green-inked writing made Phoebe's heart leap in her chest. It read:

_Ms. Phoebe Blackridge_

_11 Magus Drive_

_Phoenix, Arizona_

The unusual letter was sealed by red wax, half-melted from the sun so the seal pressed into it was no longer visible. The letter was not properly addressed, and there was not a postage stamp to be seen. But it had still found its way, the first letter Phoebe had received since she had been sent to the principal's office in seventh grade for taking the teacher's desk and hiding it somewhere in the school. No matter how much Phoebe had tried to explain that it had disappeared on its own, she could not argue her case. Desks did not "_just_ _disappear_". Her grandmother had been furious with the notice and Phoebe had been grounded for weeks.

Nana Blackridge pulled the letter close to her scrunched face. "To Ms. Phoebe Blackridge, hmm? I don't _think_ so!" she cackled. Phoebe's eyes widened as her grandmother tore open the letter and pulled out a piece of folded parchment. As she unfolded the letter, Phoebe caught a glimpse of the same, green lettering inside, but that was all she saw before her grandmother suddenly stood up from her seat.

"Move!" she growled, shoving Phoebe aside easily although she was at least a head shorter than her granddaughter.

"Give me the letter, Nana!" shouted Phoebe to the old woman, but Nana Blackridge had hobbled forcefully out of the room on her slippered feet, toward the sliding glass door that led into their grass-less backyard.

It was too late. As Phoebe followed her out into the fierce heat of the sun, Nana Blackridge fired up the letter with a lighter she had snatched from an inner pocket of her night dress that she kept there for her cigarettes. It curled and blackened, falling to the dry dirt ground where it disappeared completely in an orange glow.

"There! You don't need to be readin' those _unimportant_ letters." The old woman dusted her hands and hobbled slowly back inside, leaving Phoebe in the immense heat.

Phoebe's eyes did not tear up. She was certain that Nana Blackridge had burned up letters meant for her often, although, before today, the old woman had never dared to commit the act in front of her. Phoebe only clenched her fists in fury, feeling the anger rise up in her until something quite extraordinary happened. Of course, this unusual thing did not bother Phoebe. These unexplainable things often happened when she got angry, but any normal onlooker would have been quite surprised to see several jagged rocks suddenly puncture the ground where Nana Blackridge had been standing only seconds before.

Phoebe stormed back into the house, where she locked herself into her attic bedroom over the garage. The furniture making up the room included a single bed, a desk for her school work, and a makeshift bookshelf made of stacked boxes with boards between every few of them. The rest of the narrow space was lined with boxes and trunks of her grandmother's and her parents' old things.

Phoebe had gone through the things in the attic so often that there was nothing really to look at that would spark her attention. It was summer vacation, but the heat was too overbearing for her to leave the house. There was nothing to do in her room, but she refused to go downstairs for the rest of the day. She knew she could not stand seeing that despicable woman again until her rage had subsided. She reached under her bed and pulled her singed family photo from a wooden box beneath her wire bed, and stared at it until the night fell and she had calmed down.

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><p>A necessity for food drove Phoebe back down into the shadowy house, where she stopped before entering the kitchen. The small television in the kitchen was turned off. Nana Blackridge was mumbling furiously into the phone. Phoebe put her ear to the door in order to hear better.<p>

"Y'all told me that no one would hear about what happened!" There was a pause, and then, "no, you listen to _me_. You will _not_ be taking her away! She does _not_ need to be _educated, _or whatever it is y'all think you're doing. You know perfectly well that I know what kind of heresy you practice, and I will not have her soul tarnished any more than it already is..."

Phoebe's grandmother fell silent for a long time. She heard the warbling of a furiously talking voice coming from the telephone. Finally, Nana Blackridge gave a long, growl-like sigh. "The answer will always be _no_. No matter what you _devils_ ask!" The phone was slammed down hard on the receiver. Phoebe wouldn't have been surprised if it had broken.

She backed down the hall quickly when she heard Nana Blackridge shuffle toward the kitchen door. From the shadowed end of the hall, Phoebe saw her grandmother disappear into the living room, and waited for the sound of her bedroom door closing before she slipped into the flowered kitchen.

Phoebe's head buzzed with curiosity. Her heart beat in her throat as she rummaged absentmindedly through the old, yellowed fridge for something she could take up to her room. _Who had Nana been talking to, about me being dangerous? Whoever they had been, she had called them _devils_!_ Phoebe had never heard her grandmother speak about her to anyone. The woman was a strictly conservative, and held her own taboos about her granddaughter. One of them included an unspoken vow of silence about the girl to anyone, a fact that Phoebe had long ago ceased to question. It somehow felt right that devils were trying to take her—her grandmother was already assured that they had claimed her parents that cursed winter fifteen years ago.

Phoebe took a strawberry yogurt cup from the fridge and a cereal bar from the pantry up to her room, finished them off hungrily, and fell asleep still mulling over what she had heard that night.

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><p>Phoebe woke up from the depths of a hazy dream to a thumping and scratching coming from the one, round window to her attic bedroom. She rolled out of her bed, still dressed in the shorts and tank top from the day before. She pulled her blonde hair back into the messy ponytail it had fallen out of in the night as she made her way to the window.<p>

Phoebe gasped as an incomprehensible black shadow thumped against the foggy, grime-covered glass. She waited, and again, it thumped against the glass as if whatever it was trying to find its way inside.

She made up her mind after another second of hesitation. Phoebe reached out with a shaking hand, and undid the rusty latch that held the window shut. As the shadow thumped against the glass for the third time, the window burst open, and a large, gray, feathery ball rolled through the air into the room and landed with a soft thud on her bed. The room was instantly lit by blindingly bright sunlight and scalding air wafted in through the gaping hole. Phoebe closed up the window and turned to her bed. On it, preening itself under its massive soot-colored wing was an owl, a rolled-up letter tied to its taloned foot with a long strip of twine.

Phoebe blinked. She could not believe what she was seeing. Could the owl be delivering a message to her? It had seemed insistent on getting inside her bedroom. How had it known exactly which window to try? The owl's head swiveled toward her, and its massive amber eyes blinked lazily.

Phoebe inched forward slowly, half-filled with excitement, half with fear. She was now standing right in front of the creature, expecting it to attack at any moment. But it continued to sit placidly on her quilted bedspread, watching Phoebe with disinterest.

Finally, Phoebe plucked up the courage to reach for the letter attached to the owl's leg. As if it knew exactly what to do, the owl stretched up it's foot, unblinking, and allowed her to untie the rolled up parchment. Then, the owl reached forward and nipped her gently on the finger. A sudden thought occurred to Phoebe; the poor thing must be parched!

A half-drunken cup of water from yesterday's late-night dinner stood on her bedside table. She picked it up quickly, poured it into a shallow chocolate tin that had been finished off weeks before, and placed it on the floor next to her bed. The owl gave a soft hoot of gratitude and alighted from the bed, lapping up the water eagerly.

Phoebe turned to her bed, still in shock from the creature's appearance, and looked at the back of the letter which she had unrolled. The envelope sealed by red wax was addressed to her in the same improper way in green ink, without postage stamps, but this time with a slight difference.

_Ms. Phoebe Blackridge_

_The Bedroom in the Attic_

_Phoenix, Arizona_

_What strange, unimaginable luck_, thought Phoebe with delight. _Nana can't take this from me now!_

Phoebe tore open the letter unceremoniously, finding two sheets of folded parchment. She opened the first, and began to read the same green-inked lettering that she had glimpsed at breakfast the day before.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL  
>of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY<em>

_Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall_

She read, and her eyes widened. Could this be some sort of joke? _But no, it can't be_, she thought, her mind racing with excitement. _Why go through the trouble of sending it again? And addressed specifically to my bedroom!_ And there had to have been a reason for all those unexplainable things that had happened around her lifetime—a bush that had burst into flames near her when she had been bullied, her teacher's desk disappearing in middle school, and even yesterday, the jagged rocks that had struck the earth in her backyard.

Phoebe continued reading, resisting the urge to read faster and faster in order to get to the very end of this special letter. She wanted to take in every word.

_Dear Ms. Blackridge,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1__st__._

_As you have most likely heard, students usually begin wizard schooling at the age of 11. However, as your lack of proper schooling in America became evident to the British Ministry of Magic, they have made the decision to accept you into Hogwarts on the grounds that you have been denied access to any American wizarding schools. Please consider this a great privilege. This exception has never been made in the history of Hogwarts._

_A schedule has been drafted for you with the aid of the Ministry so that you will be in both first-year and upper-level courses, so as not to seclude you from students of your age. Although your age is that of a student who has already graduated, you will officially be considered a first-year student. Due to the circumstances at Hogwarts in the prior year, there will be several students your age who have returned to finish their final year at Hogwarts._

_As the terms of your acceptance are exceedingly rare, a Ministry official and a member of the Hogwarts staff will arrive at your home on August 28__th __ at noon to transport you to Britain. There they will assist you in purchasing your school supplies and with getting situated on the train to Hogwarts._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall  
>Headmistress<em>

The second piece of parchment contained a type-lettered list of supplies, which she read eagerly.

_PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS. (That goes for you, too!)_

The last words were too much to handle. "Broomsticks!" she gasped.

Phoebe leaped off her bed in excitement, and the owl lapping water from the emptied chocolate tin gave a startled hoot. She began to pace the room, filled with a mix of emotions that forced her to use all of her might not to scream out loud.

It was August the 24th! These people would be showing up in three short days! And she would be free! Free of Nana Blackridge's dark, old house. Free of the community college she dreaded attending after the summer! And most importantly, free of the terrible memories she associated with the city of Phoenix. Of her parents' deaths in that all-consuming fire she could barely remember.

A sudden thought emerged at the back of Phoebe's head. How would she pay for all of these supplies? The thought was like an ice-cold slap to the face, and she slumped back onto her bed. The owl was lapping water happily, not bothered by her agitated feet swinging over the sides of her bed.

"It will be embarrassing," she mumbled out loud. "I'll have to ask one of those... those..." and a shiver ran down her spine at the thought, "_wizards_, for money. There's no _way_ Nana'll pay for this." And Phoebe remembered her grandmother angrily burning the letter in the yard, and the over-heard phone call. She didn't want her to go. She would not let her leave.

_But apparently I'm a, a wizard..._ thought Phoebe, and she found herself smiling. _I belong with these people. Not here in this rotten house!_

At that moment, she became unconcerned with anything but re-reading the letter, the list of supplies, and puzzling over every sentence of the headmistress's words. There was more than she could imagine that was still unanswered, but Phoebe was determined. She was getting out of here. Her life would soon become meaningful.


	2. Chapter 2 : The Portkey

I do not own Harry Potter (written by JK Rowling). This piece of writing is fan fiction! It contains original characters and content, as well as information, content, and characters from the Harry Potter series (which, again, I do NOT own). Thank you for reading!

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><p><strong>Chapter 2 – The Portkey<strong>

Nana Blackridge was worried. She had never seen Phoebe in such high spirits as she had been for the past three days. She had noticed something was wrong the instant she had heard Phoebe happily whistling while vacuuming the living room, and then afterward getting the mail, mopping the bathroom, and dusting the hall without complaint.

It was now Friday, and Phoebe was frying eggs on the stove, smiling to herself as if she was holding in a great, juicy secret. Nana Blackridge could not take her granddaughter's happiness any longer. She turned from her television and looked at the teenager with contempt.

"What have you been smiling about?" she growled, upset that her burning of the letter on Monday had not destroyed Phoebe's summer for long. "Is it a _boy_?" she sneered, squinting at Phoebe's back.

"No, Nana," Phoebe said truthfully, turning to pile the finished eggs on the two plates sitting on the square table.

Nana Blackridge growled forcefully, glaring at Phoebe lividly. _What could it be?_ She thought, searching the girl's face as if for a visible sign of what had caused her sudden happiness._ A new friend? Drugs? Or perhaps a fatal flaw she had thought to have discovered in her _impeccable_ grandmother? Something like that _would_ amuse her little pea-brain? _Anything but that fear that had slowly began to gnaw at the back of the old woman's mind, that Phoebe had discovered something about herself that had been kept a secret for so long...

Phoebe tucked into her bacon, eggs, and a gravy-smothered biscuit. She finished before Nana Blackridge could even snap out of her thoughts to start eating, and the girl dashed out from the kitchen, up to her attic bedroom.

_I _will _find out what is going on,_ Nana Blackridge thought with conviction. _Well, after breakfast. And the morning show. I can't miss my morning show..._

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><p>Phoebe kept her limited wardrobe neatly stacked on two of the five of her makeshift shelves. Her sneakers and flip-flops were usually stowed beneath her bed. But right now, the girl was busy loading the clothes and shoes into a dusty leather backpack that she had wrestled out from beneath a massive stack of her grandmother's old rubbish in the attic.<p>

Today would be her day of freedom! She could hardly keep still. Every moment she found herself needing to do something. She was sure Nana Blackridge had noticed, but she didn't care. There was nothing she could do to stop her once the _wizards_ came. Their powers could surely change her mind!

After she had stuffed all of her clothes into the leather rucksack, Phoebe stood up and scanned the room. Everything seemed extremely ordinary now that she was anticipating so much. There was only one more thing she needed to pack; the wooden box in which she stored the damaged photo of her family, and now, the precious Hogwarts letter.

Just as she had pushed the small box into the leather back pack, there was a loud rapping at the trapdoor that led into the attic. Phoebe grabbed the bag and stuffed into a nearby box full of empty photo frames just as Nana Blackridge burst through the hole into the room, huffing and puffing from her ascent.

"What's going on here?!" She breathed loudly, although she hadn't really seen anything. Phoebe knew the old woman was extremely near-sighted.

"Nothing, Nana," said Phoebe in her most innocent voice. She backed up until she fell back onto her bed as the old woman advanced on her. Nana Blackridge lowered her wrinkled face until it was level with Phoebe's. Lunch had just passed, and her hot breath smelled like leftovers.

"Don't think I don't know what you're planning," she breathed, her black eyes quivering. "You will _not_ leave this house. You have college to go to. Think of your poor old Nana! I'm spendin' a fortune on your tuition!" Her voice was filled with frightening cheer.

"W-what are you talking about?" Phoebe asked, her voice cracking. She knew!

"I know what goes on in those Salem schools! They'll teach you the devil's work, they will! Oh, no! You'll not be tarnished any more by those evil people!"

"Salem?" Phoebe whispered in honest confusion. She was pinned to her bed by Nana Blackridge's round arm.

"Yeah, the same damned..." but Nana Blackridge never finished her sentence. A loud pop filled the room with sound and silenced her. She spun around quite fast for a woman of her size and age, her arms stretched out in front of Phoebe, almost protectively. No, not protectively, Phoebe decided. It couldn't be.

Phoebe peered out from beneath the body and saw two of the strangest men she had ever seen. One was a dark, bald man dressed in deep indigo robes, a small, round hat of the same color perched on his head. The second was tall, so tall that he had to crouch in the attic to be able to stand. He had round, red cheeks and a big, black beard that matched his hair. He was sweating under his massive mole-skin coat. The giant man held a pink umbrella in one hand, while the dark man clutched a slender stick carefully by his side.

"Good afternoon, Madam Blackridge," said the dark man, bowing slightly. The large man did the same. Nana Blackridge's eyes were wide. Her mouth kept opening and closing as if she was going to say something, but no words escaped her lips. "We are here for Phoebe Blackridge." He gestured with one hand toward the bed, where Phoebe was looking at the men intently. Nana Blackridge backed away from him as if he was diseased, and she fell on the bed on top of Phoebe.

"Gerroff me!" Phoebe mumbled from underneath her grandmother's voluminous body, feeling like she would be crushed. The dark man reached out a hand to help Nana Blackridge up, but she refused it and instead rolled over into a defensive position in the corner of the bed, trembling as if the devil himself had reached out to her. Phoebe colored with embarrassment at the pitiful sight of the aged woman. Phoebe took the hand that was offered by the man in the indigo robes, and he hoisted her up with one quick pull.

"My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt. I am the acting Minister of Magic in Britain. This is my good friend, Rubeus Hagrid, gamekeeper at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." The half-giant grumbled a hello, smiling cheerfully while keeping an eye on the old lady that was sputtering on the bed. Phoebe was still speechless, dazed at meeting actual wizards. She only managed a quiet hello back.

Kingsley Shacklebolt pulled up his sleeve and looked at a large golden watch on his wrist. Phoebe saw that, instead of numbers, what looked like tiny planets moved around the edge. "Oh, dear. It seems we're a bit short on time!" he concluded, and looked up at Nana Blackridge apologetically. "We must be out now. Please, Phoebe, your things."

Phoebe nodded and pulled her packed rucksack from the cardboard box full of empty photo frames. As she slung it on her back, she saw Nana Blackridge's eyes narrow angrily, as if she had been betrayed by the act.

"You may say your goodbyes now," said Kingsley, "but _quickly_, mind you!" He motioned for Hagrid to turn with him to inspect the collection of things filling the attic, pointing out with exaggerated interest an old broken radio, but Phoebe felt that even that little privacy was too much. She looked at her grandmother coolly. Nana Blackridge scowled back, sweating a little. She was still curled on the bed in a fearful position.

"Bye, Nana," said Phoebe at long last, after the pair of dark eyes had stared into one another long enough. "I'll be seeing you."

"Blasphemous..." That was all the reply the old woman could manage. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"I- I suppose I'm ready," said Phoebe to the two wizards.

"All right, then!" Kingsley replied brightly, and the two turned around. Hagrid frowned at the old woman, who was being very discourteous in all possible ways. She seemed to remind him of someone else he knew as he mumbled under his breath, but all Phoebe caught was the phrase "...rotten Muggle..." which she did not understand.

"Now, have you ever used Side-Along Apparation, Phoebe?" asked the dark man, holding out his arm as if for her to grab hold of it.

"Er... no." she replied uncertainly.

"Ah, of course. Well, it's quite simple. Here, grab hold of my arm here, yes, that's it. Now, hold on tight, and think of the American Ministry of Magic building. It's in Boston," he said, smiling down at her. "This might be a bit discomforting. Don't forget to hold on tight! Here we go!"

Phoebe saw her bedroom for one last time, her grandmother huddling on her bed, the stacks of boxes, her desk and her makeshift shelves, and then everything became a blur around her. A loud crack permeated throughout the room. The sensation was uncomfortable, but all the while thrilling as, quite suddenly, Phoebe felt herself lurch forward as if she had been sucked through a straw.

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><p>Phoebe clung to the robed arm, trying to concentrate on Boston, on the American Ministry of Magic, but it was hard to think of anything for long as light rushed past her at dizzying speeds. And then they jerked to a stop, Kingsley Shacklebolt's arm the only thing supporting her weight. She felt like she was swaying on the spot, her eyes crossing and uncrossing.<p>

"Apparition don' agree with some," she heard someone mumble. It was the deep voice of Hagrid.

Kingsley held her still for several long minutes while she leered in her head, both him and Hagrid asking her if she was all right twice before she could speak. But all she managed was a jumbled, "how do we getting to Britain?" She could hear Hagrid chuckling uncertainly at her befuddled wording.

"Well, we must hurry, and you'll see," Kingsley said, but his tone was a bit uncertain as well.

Phoebe held on to his arm as they walked along several glossy, wooden halls. They had Apparated into a multi-floored building with what appeared to be an infinite number of doors along each new hallway they passed. Phoebe felt like she was already lost in the massive building, but Kingsley led her on confidently. Along the way she regained her balance and was able to walk on her own as they dodged busy workers levitating stacks of papers this way or wheeling cauldrons the other. Although the activity unfolding around her was foreign to Phoebe, the sight of witches and wizards openly practicing magic was not in any way discomforting. She excitedly took in everything she could as they flew down hall after hall.

The trio finally reached the end of dark hall where they stopped at a door that looked just like all the others. It had a round golden doorknob, and a golden plaque nailed to it that distinguished it as room G1002. Kingsley turned the knob and they entered a room wallpapered with stripes and with a curtained window at the far end. A single table stood in the center of the room, a chipped wooden yard stick sitting on its polished surface.

"We're traveling by ruler?" The words had spilled out of Phoebe before she could stop them. She immediately blushed, but Kingsley and Hagrid didn't seem to notice. On the contrary, the statement had seemed like a normal response the way the Acting Minister of Magic responded.

"Essentially, yes," he said, moving towards the table while checking his watch. Phoebe followed slowly with Hagrid at her back. "Ah, good! And with five minutes to spare!" He looked up to see Phoebe's brow scrunched up in confusion, and a bemused smile spread across his dark face. "This is a Portkey," he explained. "At the right moment, it will transport us straight into an empty room we have set out above the Leaky Cauldron."

"The Leaky Cauldron's where you'll be spendin' tonight," interjected Hagrid. "And tomorrow, I'm takin' you to Diagon Alley for a bit of shoppin'!" He beamed, and Phoebe smiled back. Hagrid hadn't spoken as much to her as Kingsley since they had met, but she felt like he would be a great companion for the next two or three days. She had hundreds of questions boiling in her mind, and he seemed eager to tell her everything she wanted to know about the wizarding world.

"Ah! It's time!" exclaimed Kingsley, and he motioned for Hagrid and Phoebe to come forward. All three placed their hands on the broken yard stick. Phoebe grasped onto the middle, while Hagrid and Kingsley took hold of either end. "Hold on tight!" Kingsley said for the third time that day.

Phoebe looked around, expecting them to fly out the window or something similarly pleasant, but instead she felt another great lurch. She flew backwards, as if an invisible hook had grabbed her by the bellybutton. She knew she had soared out of the American Ministry of Magic building, but where they flew for such an overlong moment, she wasn't sure. Finally, she felt the blur of light rushing past her slow down, and the next thing she knew, she was sprawled across a scrubbed wooden floor.

As Phoebe stood, she noticed that she was in a square room that held a single bed, a table with a chair, and a tall dresser with closed doors. Hagrid and Kingsley Shacklebolt stood near the door, Hagrid letting Kingsley out. Kingsley smiled as he waved goodbye, and she waved back as he disappeared down the hall.

Hagrid helped Phoebe get to her feet, accidentally lifting her off the ground as he grabbed her by the arm. "Sorry," he grumbled meekly, setting her down gently. "Sometimes I forget me own strength."

"That's all right," said Phoebe, taking off her rucksack and throwing it on the neatly prepared bed. She walked a bit unsteadily toward the window beside the room's small table. She drew the curtain aside and to her delight saw a long, twisting street below, lined with countless shops of all sorts, and many, many witches and wizards in bright robes scuttling like ants between them. She thought she caught a glimpse of Kingsley working his way through the crowds, but was not sure. It was sunset, and everyone's face was hidden in shadow.

"Shacklebolt had to get back to the Ministry. Tons o' work goin' on for the folks there, after all that's happened, as you know." Phoebe did not know, but she resisted the urge to ask questions as she was suddenly overcome by hunger and weariness, her stomach growling noisily.

"Lets head down fer some dinner," said Hagrid, as if reading her thoughts. "An' then it's to bed with you! You need to get ready for an excitin' day tomorrow!"

Phoebe followed him out of the room without hesitation. Everything was shocking and new, but her heart felt warm. She felt like she was finally somewhere where she was accepted, somewhere where she belonged.


	3. Chapter 3 : The Wand

I do not own Harry Potter (written by JK Rowling). This piece of writing is fan fiction! It contains original characters and content, as well as information, content, and characters from the Harry Potter series (which, again, I do NOT own). Thank you for reading!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3 – The Wand<strong>

Phoebe surfaced from a dizzying dream of unrecognizable blurs of light and color. As she opened her eyes to the dazzling sunlight coming in through the room's one window, the words _"apparition don' agree with some"_ floated through her mind. And then it came back to her as she saw the chipped yard stick sitting on the table near the window.

Phoebe wasn't in Phoenix, Arizona any more. She was in a room above the Leak Cauldron pub in London. Outside of her window curved the boisterous Diagon Alley, where she would be spending the day shopping for school supplies with the massive Hogwarts gamekeeper, Hagrid.

Phoebe stripped off the extra-large football t-shirt she used as a night gown and pulled on a pair of jeans, a faded tank top, and a sweatshirt from her rucksack. Just as she finished lacing up the last of her sneakers, there was a loud knocking at the door that made her jump out of her skin. "C-come in!" she called, sitting up from her bed and smoothing down her hair. Hagrid burst into the room, his pink umbrella in his hand.

"Ready ter get going?" he asked cheerily, and only then did Phoebe notice the small, hissing crate tucked under his other arm.

"Yes," she answered, and Hagrid led Phoebe out of the Leaky Cauldron, her list of Hogwarts supplies secured in her pocket.

Phoebe had looked out of her room last night for a few minutes, but she now realized that she had not fully appreciated all of what Diagon Alley had to offer. Hagrid commentated on the various shops, giving facts and bits of history as they walked through the crowds. They passed a shop lined with cauldrons of varying sizes, an apothecary from within the faint smell of cabbage rolled out with each opening of its wooden door, and even a store outside of which several younger boys and girls were packed up against the window, ogling a glossy-handled broomstick that hovered in its display case behind the glass. Phoebe wanted to join them, but Hagrid pushed her along toward a large marble building that loomed over the rest at the top of wide, evenly lined steps.

"Gringotts, the wizardin' bank," mentioned Hagrid, as they began to ascend the steps up to the bank's doors. "Used ter be the safest place to store valuables, besides Hogwarts, that is," he added, "well, 'til Harry Potter an' em broke in, an' 'til You-Know-Who attacked the castle."

"Mmh," replied Phoebe. Since dinner the night before, she had noticed Hagid talked about this Potter boy a lot. Almost as much he would bring up things about someone he mysteriously called _You-Know-Who_ and some attacks he had led against the wizarding community. Despite her curiosity, Phoebe felt much too embarrassed to let Hagrid know that she was completely clueless as to what he was talking about. And she did not want the prospect of violence and war among the wizards to spoil the wonderful world she now found herself in. _Might as well wait to learn about it at Hogwarts_, she told herself.

"Anyways, here we are," added Hagrid, and two short, ugly creatures that reminded Phoebe vaguely of humans bowed them inside. "Goblins," humbled Hagrid under his breath. "They run Gringotts." And suddenly there was that cold slap to the face that Phoebe had experienced in her room six days ago. Money! She had forgotten that she had none! How would she pay for her supplies? What did Hagrid expect, taking her to this bank?

"Er, Hagrid, sir?" whispered Phoebe, against her wishes. Quite unexpectedly, she began to feel very out of place amongst the goblins and the robed wizards and witches bustling through the great marbled entrance of Gringotts. "I don't have any money."

Hagrid turned around, his face troubled. He twiddled his thumbs for a moment before deciding to speak. "Well, I know that yer not proud of yer dad an' all, an' that what he's gone and done you'd think he hasn't left you anything," he spilled out, "but don't you worry! He left behind his Gringott's key, and I expect it was for your use..."

Phoebe's eyes widened. She felt her stomach drop. "M-my... dad...?" she managed to breathe. This was the last thing she had expected to hear, and when the subject was brought up so unpredictably she was rendered numb. Hagrid procured a twisted black key from somewhere inside his moleskin coat. The crate tucked under his arm, which had been silent for so long, gave a frightening hiss.

"Yeah, here you are," he said, handing her the key. "McGonagall and them Ministry folks told me not ter mention him to you. I expect the memories are a bit painful, but, what's done's done..."

The black iron key was heavy in her hand. _My father's key,_ she thought. Her heart was beating so loudly in her chest that she was worried Hagrid could hear it. _He had been a wizard. _"Hagrid, was my mom a witch?" Phoebe blurted out quickly, regaining her voice for a moment.

"What?" said Hagrid. A pained expression fell across his face, as if he had just done something he shouldn't have. "Of course!" he said, a bit louder than necessary. He pushed Phoebe forward to one of the high counters where a bespectacled goblin was working busily before she could ask more questions, and she had to force the curiosity about her parents aside for the time being, despite her longing to know more.

Up close, Phoebe could see that the goblin had rough, peach-colored skin and beady black eyes that glittered like jewels in the depressions of his eye sockets. "Grabnob!" Hagrid bellowed, and the goblin looked up, obviously piqued by the large man's appearance. He did not speak, but merely looked pointedly from Hagrid to the girl and back again. "We're needin' to access her vault," Hagrid finally said.

"Key?" drawled the goblin, reaching out a long-fingered hand over the high counter. Phoebe handed the key over reluctantly, and the goblin drew it up to his eyes, glossing over it intently. "Are you sure this is the proper key?" he asked after a while, turning an eye to Hagrid and Phoebe with curiosity.

"Yes, sir," replied Hagrid, and that seemed to be enough. The goblin disappeared beneath the counter and then appeared beside the two a moment later.

"Follow me." He led them behind the counters into a dark room lined with tracks. A cart sped to their location after they reached a platform beside the glowing tracks, and they climbed in.

Phoebe found the following ride exciting beyond anything she had done in her life. The cart twisted and turned at high-speeds through dark tunnels and wide open caverns that Phoebe could not see the ends of, like a roller coaster inside the earth.

When it finally came to a stop beside another platform that led off into various corridors, Phoebe noticed that Hagrid, who had been standing behind her in the cart, was very pink the face and was holding the sides of the cart so tight that his knuckles where white. His pink umbrella and the furiously sputtering crate were on the floor of the cart. He blinked several times before he let go and straightened up. Phoebe had to fight to suppress a giggle—it was odd to see such a large man frightened of a short cart ride.

"Please, follow," spoke Grabnob. He was already off the cart, standing on the stone platform. The tunnel they followed was lit only by a few dim torches. They reached a massive round door and the goblin proceeded to stick the key in an invisible keyhole. There was a loud groan and the metallic clanging of gears turning and bolts unshackling, and the door swung open slowly.

Phoebe rushed in to find mounds of gold, silver, and bronze coins, suits of armor, jewels, golden goblets, chests of heirlooms and more. The floors were covered in an assortment of various Persian rugs, and candles floated above the treasure, faintly illuminating the shadowed cell.

Hagrid found her a green and dusty velvet pouch among the antiques in the cell and Phoebe slipped in handfuls of the coins piled in chests. She learned that the large gold ones were called Galleons, the next smaller ones Sickles, and the tiny bronze circles were Knuts.

Phoebe felt the bag jangle against her leg as Grabnob guided the cart back to the surface. Her_ father's_ money.

* * *

><p>In what Phoebe had felt was an attempt to avoid her careful questioning about her family, Hagrid left Phoebe to go take care of some unexplained business in a dark alleyway that led off from the main street. "Got ter get rid o' this," he had said, nodding to the hissing crate tucked in his armpit. "Knockturn Alley's just the place, but you don't want ter be followin' me in there. Why don't you head on over to Ollivander's for a wand, and I'll meet you in Flourish and Blott's in an hour or so?" Hagrid assured her that Mr. Ollivander would guide her through the entire wand selecting and purchasing process. Phoebe could do nothing but agree to follow his advice, and stowed all of her pounding questions away for later.<p>

Phoebe made her way to the front of Ollivander's wand shop a bit hesitantly, still feeling lost in a world of magic of which she knew nothing about. She stepped into the deserted shop of Ollivander's. It was shadowed, the walls lined from floor to ceiling with what looked like various small shoe boxes, each one unique. There was a bell on the counter before her, shadowed by a particularly messy and over-filled shelf. Phoebe rung the bell and the hollow sound echoed around the shop. There was a clatter, a curse, and mumbling as a bent man with sallow skin and wiry silver hair hobbled out from the shadows of the shop. His eyes were large, pale and silver, and they roamed around Phoebe's face for a moment before Phoebe spoke.

"Mr. Ollivander?" she asked quietly, unsettled by his piercing gaze.

"Yes, that is my name," he replied softly, but intensely. He had seemed worn, tired, like the shadow of a once powerful wizard. "And yours?"

"Phoebe Blackridge, sir." Ollivander's gaze made her squirm. She felt as if there was something painfully obvious that she was missing, but he interrupted her worries as he spun around on his heel.

"I expect you're here because you need a wand," he said, facing away from Phoebe, scanning the massive shelf behind him.

"Yes, sir," said Phoebe.

"You are quite old to be needing a first wand, Phoebe Blackridge," said the old man. "You are the American girl that the Ministry spoke about. Very unusual circumstances, indeed! I wonder... Wand arm?" he asked.

"Er... my right hand, I guess," replied Phoebe, unsure. Ollivander seemed to ignore her questioning tone and did not offer a clarification. Instead, he continued to scan the wall.

"Here, try this." He said, and pulled a blue box down from the shelf behind him. He took the lid off the box and slid it across the counter. "Blackthorn. Thirteen inches. The core is dragon heartstring, extra springy." A knobbly, dark stick lay on a dusty cushion inside the blue cardboard box. Phoebe plucked it up carefully and stared at it.

"Well, go on! Flick it! Try something!" said Ollivander, again with the same soft, intense whisper that was now becoming hoarse. Phoebe flicked the wand. Nothing happened. She felt her face get hot and her heart beat louder in her chest. It must have all been too good to be true. She wasn't a witch after all. She would have to go back home to Phoenix...

"Ah, well, I suppose we'll have to try another. This is all perfectly normal, I assure you." The tone of his voice was not reassuring. Ollivander pulled the wand out of her hand, placed it back in its box, lidded it, and the reached for another. Phoebe picked up the second, another blackthorn wand, this time eleven and a half inches with an unicorn hair core. She flicked it in the air, feeling silly, and again, nothing happened.

"Hmm." Ollivander reached for another wand. The third didn't work. And neither did the fourth, or the fifth, or the sixth.

Phoebe was very hot in the face and could hardly speak when Ollivander finally stopped handing her wands and instead rushed toward her and grasped her right wrist tightly. He rotated her hand back and forth, began measuring her fingertips, her arm, her head, the length of her body from her shoulder to her feet. The dull glaze over his eyes hand turned into a curious glow.

And then he stopped suddenly. He let her arm drop to her side, and backed away behind his counter. He was looking her from beneath his lids. Phoebe could not make out the expression on his face; it was something like anger mixed with extreme curiosity and maybe fear.

"I am sorry," said Ollivander slowly, every syllable sounding vacant to Phoebe's ears. "There is no wand for you here. Go!" He made to turn, but stopped at the sound of her voice.

"Wait!" pleaded Phoebe, suddenly becoming desperate. She could not go back. She would not allow it! "There has to be some mistake! I know I'm a witch! I know I am!"

Ollivander shook his head. "Never in my days did I think I would see one in my shop for whom there is no wand." The words were but the faintest whisper, his eyes stared somewhere into space as he spoke them, but to Phoebe the words were like a roaring in her ears. Never in his life.

Suddenly, Ollivander let out a soft whimper as if he had remembered something that haunted him, frightened him, still gazing forward as if lost in thought. After the long silence that followed the small noise, his words startled Phoebe, who had begun to cry freely. "Go, Phoebe Blackridge. I am truly sorry. Perhaps you will find a wand elsewhere. I do not doubt your powers. They are great." He then shrunk back and finally disappeared into the shadows of his shop.

Phoebe stood rooted on the spot for minutes before she turned and rushed out of the empty little shop.

* * *

><p>Back in the gray sunlight of Diagon Alley, Phoebe finished off a strawberry and peanut butter ice cream, sitting alone at a round table in front of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. Just half an hour before, she had raced through the thick crowds empty handed until she found the ice cream shop. What she had experienced in Ollivander's wand shop still threatened to make her break out into sobs. The events replayed in her mind, over and over, as if trying to prove to her that she didn't belong. She could not continue to sit alone until it was time to meet Hagrid. Phoebe made up her mind to explore the other shops of Diagon Alley in the half hour she had left.<p>

Phoebe made her way down Diagon Alley in dismay until she came upon a shop she had not noticed before. Unlike the others, it was painted an array of vibrant colors, and a gold-lettered sign proclaimed it as being Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Young witches and wizards streamed in and out the door, the ones coming out having huge smiles plastered across their faces, boxes and other oddments in their hands. It was a joke shop. Phoebe decided that this shop, if any, should make her feel better before she had to break the news to Hagrid, that her being here was a mistake. Perhaps she could find herself some amusing souvenir to take back to her hellish life Arizona, something to remind her eternally of what _could_ have been….

The inside of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was packed tight with people. There was much noise, talking mingling with pops, whizzes, squeaks, and other silly sounds that exploded out of pranks left and right. Boys exploded Wildfire Wiz-Bangs in one corner of the shop, illuminating the room in red, blue, and green lights. Around a round, silk-covered table laden with softly glowing bottles oohed several girls. They giggled as they each extracted a bottle of WonderWitch love potion. In a cage beside them, small pink fluff balls, Pygmy Puffs, squeaked happily as they were cuddled and cooed at. But none of these magical delights caught Phoebe's attention like the objects crammed into a barrel directly in front of her.

Two boys were huddled around the barrel, each holding one of the items in their hands. They were wands. The first boy, slender with mousey brown hair and dark eyes, waved his in the air in front of him. It popped and instead of a wand, he now held in his hand a rubber chicken. The second boy, a younger but more robust student, waved his trick wand, but nothing happened. "Oi, Dennis!" whined the boy, "mine's a dud!"

"That's all right," said the older boy. "Just put it back and get another, Ollie." Ollie put his fake wand back and grabbed another. To his delight, it turned into a tin parrot with the wave of his hand. "Only five Galleons! Let's get 'em!" The boys turned away.

And Phoebe had a sudden, devious thought. It took shape as she gazed at the hilt of the unusable trick wand, sticking out at an odd angle from the over-stuffed barrel. Ollivander had said that perhaps she would find a wand elsewhere. Why not here? Who would know it was a fake? She would only keep it until she found a real, suitable wand. And it _was _only five Galleons.

Phoebe snatched up the broken wand and flicked it to make sure it was the right one. She bought it from an earless redhead who constantly yelled directions at his gangly, red-haired brother. She then followed the flow of people out of the shop and ended up at Flourish and Blott's just as Hagrid was parting his way through the crowds in the same direction. The sputtering crate was missing.

"Phoebe!" he called, and she waved in reply. "Got yer wand?" asked Hagrid.

"Yes!" said Phoebe, a little too brightly, but Hagrid took no notice.

"Not too much trouble, was he? Old Ollivander's seen a lot in the past year..."

"No, no, he was... fine," Phoebe lied. The fake wand pressed against her skin in the back pocket of her jeans.

"Well, it's into Flourish and Blott's now," Hagrid said, guiding her inside the bookstore.

Phoebe spent the rest of her day shopping at Diagon Alley in relative silence, listening to Hagrid's tidbits of information as the day passed. _I did the right thing_, she thought to herself, the last thought she had before she fell asleep in her neat bed above the Leaky Cauldron.


	4. Chapter 4 : Death Eaters

I do not own Harry Potter (written by JK Rowling). This piece of writing is fan fiction! It contains original characters and content, as well as information, content, and characters from the Harry Potter series (which, again, I do NOT own). Thank you for reading!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4 – Death Eaters<strong>

It was Monday morning, and the sky was gray outside of the Leaky Cauldron. Another day had passed in Diagon Alley. Phoebe now had all of her school supplies bought and stowed into a massive leather trunk that rested on the cobble-stoned sidewalk beside her. She stood beside Kinglsey Shacklebolt, who was dressed in a smart suit and polished shoes, looking very much like a normal person. _He looks so foreign in normal clothes, now that I know he's a wizard, _Phoebe thought as she stared at him a moment too long.

"Ah," he said, and she blinked, embarrassed, although she understood the need for disguise in the non-magical world. "Do you think I have mastered dressing like a Muggle?" He was smiling.

"A- a what?" asked Phoebe, once again confused by something wizards thought normal.

"Muggle," replied Kinglsey in the bemused way he always answered Phoebe's questions, "is our name for a non-magical person."

"Oh." Before Phoebe could add more, a dark car pulled up beside the curb. The driver was a stony faced man with a brush-like mustache that stepped out of the car with a nod to Kingsley. Before Phoebe could see how the driver fit Phoebe's bulky trunk into the small back of the car, Kingsley opened the backseat door and Phoebe climbed in. The inside of the car was spacious with two long rows of leather seats facing each other. Phoebe smiled. Although intrigued, she decided not to question the fact the inside of the car was not proportional to the outside. So many things in the wizarding world had already proved to be more surprising. Kingsley climbed in and situated himself beside Phoebe.

The car zoomed off down the street, somehow missing mailboxes, people, and even buildings as it rocketed haphazardly in random directions. Phoebe's eyes were glued to the wild ride flying by her window. She had the strange feeling that she was watching a movie. Inside the car you could hardly feel a turn or bump.

The Minister of Magic was not interested the haphazard movement of the car outside. "So, Phoebe, are you excited to ride the Hogwarts Express?" he asked Phoebe casually. Phoebe did not turn her head as she responded.

"Yes... or, at least I think so!" She had never ridden a train, only in the back of her grandmother's rickety car on the way to the store, and the school bus to her old high school. The way Hagrid had explained the Hogwarts Express to her had made it sound delightful!

"Yes, it should be fine. _And_ safe. Several Ministry wizards will be posted throughout the train," he added in a slight matter-of-fact tone.

_Well, I guess that's good_, thought Phoebe. _They worry about student safety_.

The black car pulled up unexpectedly beside the large entrance to a train station. Through the car's tinted window Phoebe could see that the train station was called King's Cross. Kinglsey helped her out of the car, and the stony faced driver had already put her trunk on a metal cart so that she could wheel it into the station.

"Here is your ticket." Kingsley Shacklebolt handed her a crisp yellow ticket with the words 'Platform Nine and Three-Quarters' printed in bold at the top. Phoebe pocketed the ticket. "Just go along right inside. We have arranged for another wizard to help you board the train."

"Wait, you aren't coming with me?" gasped Phoebe. She did not like to be alone very much since the events at Ollivanders had shaken her confidence in her magical capabilities. Not to mention, she had no idea how to navigate through a train station!

"Don't you worry! Mrs. Weasley will be easy to find in her non-Muggle clothes," he said, chuckling. "_And_ she has a daughter close to your age who is also going to Hogwarts! You will be in good hands, Phoebe," Kingsley reassured her, and pulled up his sleeve to check his golden watch. "Hurry along now! I don't want you to be late!"

"All right, I'm going!" she replied with a little smile. Phoebe's eyes were sparkling as Kingsley nodded back for encouragement. As Kingsley turned to return to the car, Phoebe set off into King's Cross without a look back.

* * *

><p>Mrs. Weasley <em>was<em> easy to find. Right inside King's Cross, Phoebe found the motherly red-haired woman ferociously hugging a girl that looked to be around Phoebe's age. The woman's floor-length, brown-and-orange robes stuck out from the plainly dressed Muggles passing behind them.

Phoebe nervously approached the pair with her cart of luggage and introduced herself to Mrs. Weasley. Without warning, the woman reached forward and hugged Phoebe as tightly as she had her daughter. Phoebe immediately liked the woman, who already seemed to think of her as her own child.

"Phoebe Blackridge, it's a pleasure to finally meet you, dear," she beamed, looking Phoebe full in the face for a long moment before turning to the girl waiting behind her back. "Phoebe, this is my daughter, Ginny," she said. Ginny Weasley had the red hair of her mother, but was dressed in a regular pair of jeans and shirt. She shook Phoebe's hand warmly. With only a quick smile, the two seemed to become friends.

"Ginny is just one year younger than you, but she's been to Hogwarts for a full six years. She'll be able to show you around the school and introduce you to students your age..." Mrs. Weasley continued to prattle as she guided the girls to the platform.

The trio arrived at the space between platforms nine and ten. Phoebe retrieved her ticket from her pocket and read the text at the top of the ticket. Still inked in bold letters at the top of the card were the words 'Platform Nine and Three-Quarters'. Phoebe's gaze swept around the empty space the trio had arrived at confusedly. She had not considered the odd numbering earlier.

"All right, dearies, through the wall you go." Mrs. Weasley casually nodded toward the brick wall spanning the space between platforms nine and ten. The request came as a huge shock to Phoebe. When she noticed the wry smiles on both red-head's faces, she quickly reprimanded herself for gaping at the solid brick wall as if she were dumb. "Now, most first timers tend to have that reaction, don't they, Ginny?"

"It's true!" she added with a reassuring smile.

Phoebe gave only a small nod back and gulped, trying to swallow her objections, taking note that, up until now, she had not questioned any of the magical anomalies presented to her during her time with Hagrid in Diagon Alley. Following Mrs. Weasley's suggestion, Phoebe and Ginny ran toward the wall side-by-side with their trunk-laden carts rattling before them, Phoebe holding her eyes closed, anticipating a collision. It never occurred.

There in front of Phoebe appeared a long red train, white smoke billowing out of the smokestack at its head. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was dense with students, parents, luggage, and various pets, and the noise was deafening. Phoebe glanced behind her and saw Mrs. Weasley appear through the solid brick wall as if it were made of mist. Phoebe found herself smiling despite her racing heart as she took in the scene.

"Come on!" Ginny called, snapping Phoebe back to reality. Ginny was already pushing her way through the throng of people, and finally Phoebe, with Mrs. Weasley trudging through the crowd ahead of her, caught up with Ginny beside a door leading into the train.

The two girls stowed their luggage on board quickly, then made their way back to the Mrs. Weasley, who awaited them with shining eyes. "Well, I hope the both of you have a good year," Mrs. Weasley spoke as soon as they were together. Be safe, dearie," she said to her daughter, pulling Ginny in another hug.

"Don't worry mom. Everything's gonna be great," Ginny told her, pulling away. They were both smiling, Mrs. Weasly with a tear in her eye that she brushed away quickly.

Then Mrs. Weasley turned to Phoebe. "You will have a marvelous time at Hogwarts, I'm sure," she told Phoebe as she hugged her again, too. A shrill whistle sounded at the head of the red steamer. The two girls climbed into the train, and soon the Hogwarts Express was off on its way.

* * *

><p>Phoebe followed Ginny to the sealed glass door of a train car already filled with students. The varied group talked busily between themselves, but quieted as Phoebe entered and sat down after Ginny.<p>

"Hi, I'm Phoebe Blackridge... I'm new at Hogwarts," spoke Phoebe into the silence. Although she was not really shy, Phoebe had never been especially good at public speaking. Right now she felt as if she was on a pedestal, all eyes turned on her.

Beside her sat a round-faced boy. He looked at her timidly, but quickly introduced himself. "My name's Neville. I'm returning to Hogwarts to help the teachers and the Ministry while I finish my incomplete year," he stated, pride evident in his voice. Ginny smiled at him at the mention of his return to school, and Phoebe copied her, thinking it polite not to ask why his last year had been interrupted. She remembered that a girl at her high school had had to miss a year of school due to medical reasons.

Also in the cart across from Ginny, Phoebe, and Neville sat a cheerful girl with a book resting on her lap. "Hermione Granger. Pleasure to meet you, Phoebe," she said, shaking Phoebe's hand quite formally.

On the seat beside Hermione perched a wide-eyed, distant girl, the bright red radishes hanging from her ears contrasting sharply with her pale features. "Luna Lovegood," she said with a small smile, not extending her hand. Luna then returned to her silent musings, her eyes far away as she scanned the rolling hills passing by outside the train's window. The group fell silent after Luna's introduction. The bumping of the train speeding over its tracks filled the newborn silence between the five students. Several overlong minutes passed before Hermione finally spoke up.

"I assume you attended a wizarding school in Salem before being transferred to Hogwarts," Hermione asked Phoebe matter-of-factually, having picked up on Phoebe's American accent. Leaning forward expectantly, she seemed genuinely earnest in hearing something about a Salem wizarding school.

"Actually… no," Phoebe responded. The wide eyed reactions her response elicited were not of disappointment as she expected, but of confusion and even wonder. Ginny, Neville, Luna, and Hermione eyed each other cautiously.

"My mum mentioned you were going to be a new student at Hogwarts, but she didn't know this would be your first year in _any_ wizarding school," said Ginny, breaking the silence in the cart. "Or, if she was told, she never mentioned it to me."

"Yeah," said Phoebe awkwardly. "I honestly don't know anything about magic... not yet, anyway."

"Then, an exception like this has never been made in the history of Hogwarts!" Hermione exclaimed. "There must be something special about you," she added, thumbing the pages of the closed book in her lap rapidly, as if by habit.

"Special? I don't think so..." Phoebe looked down at her hands resting on her knees. Sure, she could perform a few magic tricks when angered, but the magic she had observed in the past four days... And she did not even have a real wand! Exceptional, indeed!

"So you don't know why you're here?" piqued Luna, who had remained silent after introducing herself. The radishes hanging from her ears swung wildly as she spun her head around to face Phoebe. "What a wonderful mystery!" Her face held that small, dreamy smile again.

Ginny, Neville, Luna, and Hermione glanced at each other for a moment, and it seemed to Phoebe a silent pact was made between the four Hogwarts students not to mention the topic of Phoebe's past again. The conversation in the cart turned to more friendly matters.

"So… what is normal school like in America?" Ginny asked.

"Oh, it's pretty boring," Phoebe said, her face adopting a pained expression that elicited laughter from the four wizards. "Especially math."

"I went to a normal school here until I was eleven, but I have a hard time remembering what that was like," Hermione chimed. "But, the classes at Hogwarts are anything _but_ boring!"

"They are, too!" Neville and Ginny retorted at the same time, and everyone laughed again. Phoebe began to feel more relaxed. After what seemed like a lifetime of loneliness, it felt good to laugh with people she could call friends. People who were allowed to know that she was different but they did not care.

The four British wizards asked Phoebe countless more questions about America and about Phoebe's high school. She answered all of their questions as best as she could while trying to sneak in a few questions of her own about Hogwarts.

A cart passed along twice on the trip, laden with cauldron cakes, pumpkin juice, Bertie and Bott's Every Flavour Beans, licorice wands, chocolate frogs, and countless other wizarding world treats that Phoebe had yet to encounter. Phoebe could hear many of the older students who came up to the cart to buy refreshments complaining about the officials posted along the train, about new Hogwarts precautions, and about something called Quidditch which they were unsure would happen this year.

Phoebe bought treats for Ginny, Neville, Hermione, Luna, and herself with their recommendations for the best ones. Neville playfully warned her about the Bertie and Bott's beans, but Ginny urged her to have a go, and Phoebe spent the last hour of the ride with her new friends trying one bean at a time until she was unlucky enough to taste earwax. The five students' merriment stopped only once Hermione suggested they go change into their Hogwarts robes. Night had fallen, and the train would arrive at Hogwarts within half an hour.

Phoebe found her robes to be quite comfortable, if not stereotypical of witches and wizards, with the flowing black robe and the pointed black hat. A note written in the hasty, oversized handwriting that could only be Hagrid's was found in the front pocket of Phoebe's robes. It simply read that she would be sorted into a house at the feast in the great hall, and that she could follow the upperclassmen to the great hall. She also found that, while her robes were plain, Ginny, Neville, and Hermione's robes were adorned with red patches on which reared the form of a golden lion, representing their Hogwarts house, Gryffindor. Luna's robes sported a blue patch across which sprawled the form of a bronze eagle, the symbol for the Hogwarts house of Ravenclaw.

"One more thing to worry about," mumbled Phoebe to herself, stuffing the note back into her pocket. She knew nothing about how the sorting proceeded, but she sorely hoped to join her friends in the house of Gryffindor or Ravenclaw.

* * *

><p>The sky was pitch black when the train arrived at its station. Phoebe stepped out to see a vast black lake that glimmered in the faint moonlight, the silhouette of a picturesque castle standing on the far shore, and was pushed along with the current of people flowing out of the Hogwarts Express until she bumped into someone that she was glad to see.<p>

"Hagrid!" Phoebe cried happily as the giant man spun around, a grin visible from beneath his bushy black beard.

"Phoebe!" he replied cheerfully, putting a hand on her shoulder and crouching until he was eye level with her. "How was ter ride? Not too bad, I hope?"

"Not at all," she answered truthfully. "I made some new friends," she began, looking around quickly for Ginny, Hermione, Neville, or Luna, but seeing neither.

"That's great!" Hagrid beamed, interrupting her search. "But I'd better go! I'll be seeing you in the great hall for the sortin' feast soon!" Hagrid stood and held a massive lantern before his face as he shouted, "FIRST YEARS, FOLLOW ME!" He set off through the crowd, winking at Phoebe once before completely disappearing with the herd of short wizards and witches trailing behind his massive frame.

The crowd before the train slowly thinned. Phoebe had stayed behind stupidly waiting for her luggage until she realized that no one else had waited for their things, but had instead climbed into various horseless carriages that had drawn up the hill toward the black castle of Hogwarts.

All the teachers had gone, and Phoebe found herself climbing into the last carriage left behind. She sat beside a somber looking, pale-haired boy around her age, and two other students. She gulped when she noticed the two boys from the joke shop in Diagon Alley, Dennis and his younger friend, Ollie.

The carriage leaped forward up a winding and bumpy path toward the castle. Dark trees crowded around on all sides. The castle, hidden behind the trees, seemed far away when the carriage suddenly began to slow down and came to a full halt in a particularly dark bend in the road. The pale boy beside Phoebe suddenly became more alert as he sat up and looked sharply into the trees around them.

"Why have we stopped, Dennis?" whispered Ollie in his tinny voice. He was clutching his friend's arm and looking around confusedly. An owl hooted somewhere in the woods.

"I don't know," replied the older boy. "I'll go out and take a look. Maybe we've hit a rock or something." Dennis shook free of his friend's arm and climbed out of the carriage. The chubby boy looked shocked to be sitting on the seat opposite of Phoebe and the pale boy alone, and he, too, climbed out to have a look.

There was a series of loud popping noises which Phoebe recognized as the sound of people Apparating, followed by furious rustling in the trees. The pale boy sitting beside Phoebe suddenly drew his wand, Ollie and Dennis spun around with gasps, and Phoebe stood out of her seat. Out of the trees emerged three dark figures, skeleton-like men with dirt-caked faces, long, oily hair, and torn clothes. On each exposed left forearm, Phoebe caught a glimpse of the same, pale red tattoo, a skull with a snake spewing out of its parted mouth. They held wands in their arms, pointed directly at the carriage.

"Grab the whiners," said the middle man, and his companions grabbed the blubbering Ollie and Dennis roughly by the shirt collar and yanked them to the tree-line, wands now pointed to their heads. "You two, out of the carriage," he now instructed to the older two students. "And don't try no funny tricks, or these two get it!" Ollie and Dennis whimpered loudly at the threat.

Phoebe immediately made to climb down, noticing in silent shock that the pale boy had put his hands in his lap and was staring at his feet intently, his gray eyes wide.

Quickly making up her mind that he would be of no use, Phoebe dropped down out of the carriage. She marched up to the dirty man whose wand was pointed square at her chest, oblivious to the dangerous potential hidden in the small wooden stick. "What the hell you want with us?" she cried, hoping that the quaver in her voice was not noticeable.

The three rugged wizards burst out into scattered laughter. "You're mad, girl! Where have you been? Us Death Eaters won't stop till we're dead. We'll never stop fighting against Hogwarts, and that damned _Potter_! Our Master will not desert us a second time! He will be avenged again, and he will _praise_ _us_!" Phoebe remained silent as she, too, was dragged by the collar by the third man, his wand now pressed into her scalp. Her head was spinning. What was happening? Was Hogwarts really such a dangerous place? And if so, why had nothing been explained to her? Why had she not pressed Hagrid for more information?

"Boy! Stand!" called the leader of the trio of Death Eaters, his hot breath rolling past Phoebe's ear. "Stand or they all get the Curse, and we'll be on your neck faster than you can think to disappear!"

The pale boy sat still for a long minute. Phoebe felt the end of the wand poking against her skull. The two younger boys sniffled and let out small whimpers occasionally, but for the most part remained silent. "You have three seconds to stand!" the leader finally called impatiently, and Phoebe winced as he jabbed his wand further into her skin. "One!" He called.

The boy suddenly stood, his light features highlighted by the faint moonlight. His eyes were cold, trying to be defiant. His hand was in a fist around his wand. Unexpectedly, the Death Eaters burst again into scattered laughter.

"Look, Avery! It's the Malfoy boy!" jeered the man holding Dennis. "A frightened pup, just like his daddy!"

"Come down, Draco," cooed the man, Avery, holding Phoebe. "It'll be all right. Maybe we'll even let you kill one of these mudbloods!"

"What!?" cried Phoebe, turning her head away from Draco, directing the shout at Avery. _Kill?! _"You can't kill us!" she shouted stupidly.

"Shut up!" he said, forcing her head back forward as he pulled her back by the collar even harder until she was almost choking.

"Do something!" she cried at Draco in desperation, but he just stood there, mouth twisting into an uncertain expression, something between a frown and a scowl.

Phoebe felt a deep anger swell up past her fear, and then it happened. Phoebe felt the air around her become alive, as if electrified, and then there was an immense wave of heat accompanied by an earsplitting roar as a large lick of fire lashed out of nowhere at Avery, then the two men holding Ollie and Dennis. The Death Eaters released the students in alarm, and Phoebe spun around to see a giant serpent made of fire striking at the scattering wizards. The enormous, flaming snake followed the Death Eaters into the trees, and Phoebe knew it was she who had conjured it, and it was she who was controlling its actions.

"Climb back into the carriage!" Draco suddenly spoke, as he shouted at Colin and Dennis. Phoebe snapped out of something like a trance at the cutting sound of his voice and followed his command. The carriage rocked forward again at break-neck speed toward Hogwarts. As the carriage rounded a bend in the path through the woods, the fiery serpent and the men it had chased away were gone.


	5. Chapter 5 : A Chat on the Stairs

I do not own Harry Potter (written by JK Rowling). This piece of writing is fan fiction! It contains original characters and content, as well as information, content, and characters from the Harry Potter series (which, again, I do NOT own). Thank you for reading!

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><p><strong>Chapter 5 – A Chat on the Stairs<strong>

The sorting feast had not yet started when the last carriage reached the great oak doors of Hogwarts. The courtyard was strewn with rubble in the corners. Stone structures were missing chunks. There were cracked windows, limbless statues, and silent fountains. And yet everything seemed peaceful.

A stern-faced witch, a pair of square spectacles balanced on the bridge of her nose, half-ran toward the great front doors of the castle and snatched Phoebe, Draco, Ollie, and Dennis as soon as they had made their way inside the fire-light castle. Phoebe had only a quick moment to marvel at the sprawling walls of moving portraits, the endless, twisting staircase that spiraled up like a vertical maze to the floors above, until she was ushered up a spiraling staircase hidden behind the statue of a giant, sitting griffin.

She found herself in a spacious wooden study lined with books, portraits, odd trinkets, globes, and other confusing objects of unexplainable magical properties. "Hello Dennis. Ollie. Draco," McGonagall addressed the students, nodding her head curtly at each in turn. "And Phoebe Blackridge. I am Professor McGonagall."

"Nice to meet you." Phoebe's voice was small. She felt like she was back in the principal's office in her high school, about to receive a detention, or worse, a nasty phone call home to her Nana. What if that flaming snake had injured those men? McGonagall's features did not become kinder, but her expression evolved from anger to concern.

"I am appalled that those Death Eaters were able to penetrate our defenses. I assure you, this will _not_ happen again. _Not_ on my watch," McGonagall stated firmly. "Hogwarts upholds the highest standards of student safety!" McGonagall summoned several teachers and Ministry wizards and dispatched them with instructions to secure all the protective charms around the school before the four students were ordered to retell the night's events.

A good half hour was spent explaining what had happened in the woods to the distraught McGonagall. Ollie and Dennis excitedly took over most of the story-telling. They relived the story of how a fiery snake had saved them from the Death Eaters, each boy embellishing the story with more and more vivid details, until, by the end, it became very noticeably exaggerated. McGonagall released the boys quickly after giving a disapproving look to the pair as they left, probably to gossip to the other students, which she had strictly warned them against.

The Headmistress then questioned Draco about the incident. He was as cool and reserved as ever. Mcgonagall was particularly interested in what had occurred between him and the Death Eaters, but Draco soon began to vehemently assure her of his innocence. Phoebe was confused as to what their conversation meant, but McGonagall was eventually satisfied. Draco, too, left.

Finally, as Phoebe had revealed her account of the story, McGonagall took the information in with a blank expression. Phoebe could not fully explain what the fiery snake was. How could she, when she did not even know what the Death Eaters were, much less why they had been attacked! The moment had been reduced to a confusing blur in her mind, the more she had pondered at the overwhelming multitude of questions constantly pressing on her mind. Luckily, the Headmistress did not feel the need to question her deeply. Phoebe had felt a huge relief when the aged woman allowed her to go.

"Head straight to the stairs, all the way down to the main floor. The great hall is through the large wooden doors. They are impossible to miss," McGonagall instructed.

"Yes, ma'am," Phoebe sighed, standing before the griffin statue with the Headmistress.

As Phoebe turned to leave the Headmistress's office, McGonagall gave her one last, severe look. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Phoebe Blackridge."

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><p>Phoebe Blackridge's head rushed with an unexplainable anxiety. She now walked slowly down a shadowy stone hall, having been directed toward the massive, shifting staircase that would lead her to the feast below. She walked absentmindedly, the conversations held in the office replaying in her mind in short bits and pieces. She wanted to forget the entire thing—she had gotten a strong feeling from McGonagall that there was something terribly wrong with her.<p>

Phoebe reached the wide marble staircase and descended it slowly, stopping at the head of the last flight of stairs when she spotted a black-robed figure stooped on the last step. It was Draco Malfoy.

_Why isn't he at the feast?_ The thought briefly flitted across her mind before Phoebe decided that she, too, would much rather sit out from the festivities, despite being starved from the night's events. She found herself sitting beside the silent Draco. He did not lift his head although Phoebe was sure he had heard her arrival over the bustle coming from behind the massive wooden doors of the great hall. They pair sat in silence until Phoebe felt compelled to speak.

"Hi," she began awkwardly. Draco lifted his head. The boy seemed to always keep a sour face, but Phoebe was a bit startled by the intensity of the gray eyes that suddenly peered into her own, so bright against his porcelain skin. His eyes betrayed his fear. "I... I know I didn't really have a chance to introduce myself before... I'm Phoebe. Phoebe Blackridge." She extended a hand, and Draco was slow to take it.

"Draco. Draco Malfoy," he finally replied. He spoke softly, almost as if afraid to be heard.

Phoebe smiled at the introduction, but the smile came out more like a wince. She adjusted herself on the wide marble step, fishing in her head for a conversation topic. She was suddenly unsure why she had even begun talking to him. "Hogwarts is a very beautiful school!" she said, slightly over-eagerly. "I mean," and here she tried to smile again at Draco, "can you believe that only about a week ago I didn't even know that witches and wizards existed?"

"Yes."

Phoebe was not amused, but skirted over the mild insult in an attempt to make friends. The topic she eventually hoped to reach was the night's events, but Draco beat her to it.

"The spell you used, _Fiendfyre_, I've never seen it performed so successfully by a student."

"What? Really?" Phoebe's heart somersaulted. "Well… I didn't really do anything... I'm not even sure it really was me..."

"Well it wasn't me, and it sure as hell wasn't Creevey or his round friend," interjected Draco. The statement could have been another insult, had the young man not sounded so sad. The pair sat in silence again for a minute, the jubilant noise of the feast below a stark contrast to the pair's mood. Draco suddenly spoke again. "You don't know about Death Eaters." It was not a question, but Phoebe nodded her head as an answer anyways.

"Yeah, I don't. I told you, I didn't even know that—"

"—that magic existed until a week ago. Yeah, I heard. Didn't anyone explain _anything_ to you?" Now he sounded agitated.

"Anything about what?" asked Phoebe, finally getting offended at this attack at her competence. "You have to understand that everything is completely new to me here! I don't even know what questions to ask because there are so many things that I don't know!" She blushed at getting so heated.

"Listen, this isn't something you need to ask someone to learn about. You should have been told." Draco sounded slightly concerned for the first time since she had met him, but she could not discern why and decided that it could just have been her imagination. He had not even tried to defend her or the others when the Death Eaters had attacked.

"If you think I should know something, tell me," she retorted, folding her arms.

He sat in silence, staring forward for a long moment before finally looking back at her. "All right. But first, I have a question for you."

"Okay, that sounds fair," she agreed, eager for information.

"Why did they bring you to Hogwarts?"

Phoebe's eyebrows rose. She hadn't considered the question very seriously herself since Hagrid had accidentally slipped the information that her parents had been a witch and wizard like her, not even on the Hogwarts Express ride with her new friends. She began to feel a little torn as she took a deep breath and said, "I don't know. It feels like this is something everyone here is keeping from me, too."

Draco frowned, but the expression cleared quickly. "Fair enough. I suppose I should tell you everything anyways. Not like we'll be doing anything else." He nodded with disgust toward the direction of the feast.

"Thank you, Draco," said Phoebe, eager to finally have her hands on some true information.

"Well, here's the short version of the history. I think it was almost twenty years ago when the Dark Lord, V-Voldemort," Draco stuttered momentarily. "He rose to power. He would have probably conquered to world, if _Harry Potter_ hadn't gotten in the way."

"Potter!" Phoebe gasped. "Hagrid kept going on and on about him, but I never had the chance find out exactly what he'd done. He must have been a powerful wizard-"

"Been?" snapped Draco. "You really are useless! Potter stopped Lord Voldemort when he was a baby! _The boy who lived!_" the wizard sneered. "A hero to the wizarding world before he could even talk!" Draco fell silent. He seemed to be debating inside his head, his mouth twisted into a scowl.

Phoebe's eyes widened. "So... that means... this Harry Potter is like _our_ _age_?!" The picture of Harry Potter that Hagrid's commentary had painted had made him seem like some ancient, all-powerful wizard, or maybe she had drawn that image herself from some book or movie….

Draco scoffed in response. "He was in my grade," Draco fumed, reliving some kind of hated memories silently in his head. The thoughts seemed to subside quickly, though. The boy was obviously conflicted.

"Really?" Phoebe tried to think back to Hagrid's long speeches. "Shouldn't he be here at Hogwarts, then? Right now?"

"Well..." Draco blushed and looked angry. "Last year it was… difficult to attend school. Most students in my year dropped out before finishing our final years, and most of us didn't return. Technically, I'm supposed to be done with school. I returned only when... when my parents insisted."

Phoebe remembered her ride on the Hogwarts Express. "That explains Neville! And Hermione!"

Draco scowled at the mention of the names. "Of course you would go meddling with…." He never finished his thought. Phoebe decided to allow him to fume in silence, not wanting to make him stop giving her information. Finally he continued his speech. "Voldemort was able to return again. This happened only three years ago. He called his followers to him. The Death Eaters."

"The Death Eaters were this man's followers?! Then why are they allowed to run around near the school? Why did they attack _us_?!"

"They can't get through the school's protective charms, so they wait outside," he responded. They're angry that they lost the war. They're probably just out for any students they can get. They won't go for any stronger targets. They're afraid they'll get caught by the Ministry and be locked up in Azkaban."

"Azkaban?"

"Wizard prison," Draco said quietly.

"Would they really have killed us?" Phoebe asked, afraid.

"Yes." It was not the answer she had wanted to hear, but she had expected it. She sighed. Draco seemed very knowledgeable about the Death Eaters' motives. It was then that Phoebe remembered something:

"They knew your name." Phoebe whispered the statement. Somehow she got the feeling that she was wading too deep into a dangerous topic.

Draco's face became red and he turned from Phoebe. "So what if they did?" he murmured icily. Phoebe bit her lip. She _was_ going too far.

However, Draco was not finished. He chose to ignore her comment and continue his speech. "Last year Hogwarts was attacked by Voldemort's army of Death Eaters. I don't know how Potter was able to stop him the second time. It all ended this past May. That's why the school is damaged. That's why the Ministry's posting wizards all over, and there are charms all around the school."

In the lull in the conversation that followed, Phoebe scanned the ruined portions of the school, the rubble piled into the corners, and the bare spots on the walls where she guessed more paintings had once hung. "I can't believe there was a war here, and I never heard anything about it..." she spoke slowly as she turned to Draco again.

Draco looked down at his feet and was silent for a while before he spoke. "Muggles are kept out of Wizard business," he replied crisply. "Even though a lot of Muggles died during the war."

This new information, plus the fact that she had nearly almost died tonight, began to press on Phoebe's consciousness. She began to despair. "Draco, I'm worried. What you've told me... I mean... I don't know if I belong here if that kind of evil exists here!"

"_Evil?_" The word rolled off his tongue like a brick, heavy with sarcasm that Phoebe could not understand. "Both sides had just causes." Draco spoke in a low voice, but his speech was still intense. "You shouldn't speak of what you call evil so lightly. The _Fiendfyre_ spell you cast earlier? Nice bit of difficult dark magic right there! I know it came to you quite _naturally_!" he sneered. Phoebe's heart sank to the floor.

The pair stood up in shock as a thud below brought the two students out of the conversation which had now taken a foreboding turn.

Phoebe and Draco stood and moved against the wall just as a boisterous mass of black-robed students streamed out of the great hall and up the stairs. The procession took several minutes before the wide stairs were empty again. Now only the Headmistress was heading up the stairs alone, a lumpy, brown mass in her hands. As she neared, Phoebe could see it was a stereotypical, pointed wizard's hat with a wide, notched brim.

"Master Draco!" McGonagall snapped as she reached the two. "Why have you been withholding Miss Blackridge from the festivities? She missed the sorting! And my speech!"

Draco stood up. "She's the one who decided to stay behind." He brushed past the old woman angrily without further comment, making off through a shadowy tunnel below.

"I'm sorry, Professor," Phoebe said, looking down at her polished, black shoes.

"Oh, I suppose it is my fault," McGonagall responded, her demeanor softening. "I assumed you would head straight to the feast. Well, no matter!" she lifted the dirty hat, and only then did Phoebe notice that it had two hooded eyes and a large, frayed mouth. "Here, now. Let's get you sorted."

Phoebe's heart skipped a beat. She had to force her conversation with Draco away for now. "Sorted..." Again, the hope to join her friends in one of their houses welled inside of her.

"Yes, sorted!" cried the hat, his hooded eyes now amused. "For I am the sorting hat! You will never find a hat quite like me! Place me on your head, and let us find out in what house you will be!"

Phoebe had taken a step back at his sonorous voice, but reluctantly came forward as the Headmistress began to reach forward with the hat. She placed the hat on Phoebe's head. It fell over her brown eyes, and covered her dark blonde hair completely.

"_Hmm, an untempered mind! Age without instruction!" _The voice was in Phoebe's head as she stared out at the darkness of the hat. _"She seeks knowledge! She wishes to be kind! She would not mind power! And she is courageous to boot!"_ The hat was laughing. _"So many choices, yet only one is right in the end! What will it be?"_

"I- I don't know." Phoebe was lost. What house were her new friends in? "... Gryffindor!"

"_Gryffindor? I am reminded of someone else who wished to make his own choice. He was afraid of something... But, no. I do not sense such a fear in you... yet. I am getting old and worn. I will let your decision stand, Phoebe Blackridge... _Gryffindor!" came the hat's voice, this time out of Phoebe's head.

McGonagall became visible as she lifted the hat off of Phoebe's head, a wide grin cracked across her aged face. "I was head of house for Gryffindor before becoming Headmistress. It is a good house!" McGonagall attempted to sound cheerful though she appeared weary. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Phoebe Blackridge!" This time, the welcome seemed whole-hearted and warm. Her fears about this new magical world were abated once again.

Phoebe took only one glance back for Draco before she was guided by the Headmistress back up the stairs to the Gryffindor common room.


End file.
